Published November 23, 2010
Eh, felt like posting this.
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Don’t you wonder how they always manage to hit the tree?
the knotted kind, with two-fisted branches
like the cement used to fight with it, until
it grew tall and twisted (drunk).
whiskey makes you calculating,
and soft. one hundred and eighty degree turn
and hit the brakes, you must have counted wrong.
But you can’t feel your feet,
to trace your steps.
I watched a car crash
from my window sill last night,
I’d say they were 8 degrees off
from a perfect hit.
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139,636 Literary Works • 672,636 Reviews
It seems people have already given you the long reviews that point out what you've done extremely horribly wrong and/or extremely wonderfully right, so I'll just compliment you and say, I liked it. Keep Writing!
You've got exactly the right tone here. I love how the narrator begins by just asking a question and it leads seamlessly into the other thoughts, which seem very indifferent and cold. It's like they don't care about the people who got themselves into the mess but they are just fascinated by the process that got them there. I love the image of the tree. It was really interesting to read and quite thought provoking, I enjoyed reading it.
I like how unsympathetic the narrator is and how you get to the point. There's no fluff or pomp in this poem, which is a nice change. Very real and honest. The only thing that I didn't understand was the part where drunk is in parenthesis. Was the tree drunk when it was fighting the cement?
I loved this poem it's interesting to see how the writer observed the occurrence. Instead of how most would respond you responded with a coll calculation of the situation. You have a gift for poetry that it takes more of a modern look at the times. I love nature but this poem looks not at the tree but at why the driver may have hit the tree it seems as though most writers would have lamented the damage done to the tree and that makes for such a boring poem but you focused on the driver.
Hey there Kams :D
I've already told you this makes the morbid dork in me happy. But apparently you want someone to poke holes into it, so I shall try. For you.
First. Capitalization bzuh? Your first line is all nice and proper, but then you uncap for the tree, and the whiskey and the you, only to return to straight nice Is in the last stanza. I can't exactly catch a reason for this; thinking vs action-ish maybe? Any way, it looks weird and a bit clumsy. Fix it, or make it more obvious why you've mixed it up.
As someone pointed up above, you went with both letters and numbers for the angles: "one hundred and eighty degree turn" vs "they were 8 degrees off". Wryyy. Consistence is good, and again, there is no reason I can see why this would have changed. (I think if you had to stick with one, you should go with numbers, btw. It adds to the detachedness of it).
The last two lines of the second stanza are meh. For one, the flow of it is clunky (try pronouncing it aloud. It's heavy sound after heavy sound, and it carries none of that shock, or none of that regret, either of which would be more appropriate than the current flatness). On a semi-related tangent, "the whiskey made you calculating, / and soft" is a bit weird. Calculating I associate more with sharp, and so the soft here makes me double-take. If you mean it in the way that it's the whiskey's influence is what makes the math of it erroneous (aka, the angle at the end being off from perfect), then that it is also responsible for the calculation is weird, because that implies an intent to suicide, which is indicated nowhere (unless I'm just missing it?).
The last stanza is love for me. Only nitpick is that I'd rather have the two parts of it separated by a semi-colon or a period; it would make the final statement a lot more, well, final.
Much love for this ♥
I really dug this piece. It seems dark, and personally I like that. The only thing that caught my eye is you used the number 8 instead of the word, but that has been mentioned. But that's not a major qualm. Sorry if this wasn't helpful, it's more of a praise than a Review. Haha
Hey Kamas as asked I'm here to review, now I'm not impressed perse but I'm not disappointed you delivered. But you don't want praise so I shall reread and we shall begin. What really stands out here is how you make it an everyday occurrence with a definite cynical vibe but the question we need to ask, does it work? I reckon I shall do this in stanzas as I fully address this.
You have a great start with a question, but what I really love is how it sounds casual, as if you it's none of your bother, that they're morons DUIing, and then you go on to elaborate on said scene. But here I feel you could be a little creative, you explain but it's not much of picture a tree, you just say it has branches and knots, is it winter, is it summer? Are there leaves on the tree? These seem minor complaint but you could really use the leaves if they're on the tree, 'A drop witnessed it all' or something like that, not fully sure. Now the next line fine, what bothers me is the eject of humour, I know trying to be ironic, but it's not needed, at this point it's obvious how the tree is shaped.
Might I ask, why whisky? You could have chosen any, so curious why whisky, is it random, or did you choose it for specific reason. I like knowing the facts. It plays at a general fast pace, which worked, although, no idea of weather, which could also indulge the readers further into it, you could even add a stanza before giving victims personality, just a suggestion. It might not even work, but this feels lacking. I can't put my finger on it.
I love the gloating attitude of this line, it sounds very reminiscent of the comedian George Carlin style, and it works, very dry and almost evil, but not quite, as you were only watching with morbid enjoyment. Very voyeuristic.
Overall, this piece has it's ups and downs, it's got some great lines, but something is majorly lacking, I think humanizing the people in car would work in this case, it adds another stanza and makes the ending seems very sociopathic, not really an innocent bystander, but not the culprit ever. Just someone who witnessed a wreck and not exactly loved it, but reacted less like people would imagine. Very like the true masters of horror, Vincent Price would be proud.
Hope this helps.
This is soooooo….odd, Kam.
I mean, I love the imagery here. It has that dark, very poetry-jam creepy-guy-in-a-beret-playing-bongos-behind-you feel that I love. The word choice is stunning and it really enforces this imagery.
There were two things that bothered me though, having to do with the end when you used the digit “8” instead of the word “eight.” And something in the last line seemed to lack the luster of the rest of the poem. There isn’t as much imagery in saying “from a perfect hit” at least when I read it. This is really the one line that doesn’t have the same shine as the others and seeing as it’s the last line, that kind of stinks.
But I still luff this, Kam!
*likes*
Any questions, you know how to reach me.
~lilymoore
and here I was thinking this place had gone to the dogs.